


iron filings

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Injury, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Missions Gone Wrong, Pining, Pre-Rogue One, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9481487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Cassian despaired of ever teaching K-2 a sense of humor that wasn’t twisted so far beyond repair that you couldn’t entirely tell when he was joking or not. When he’d reprogrammed K-2, he hadn’t ever expected this. And most of the time he was delighted—secretly, of course, no one needed to know howfondof the security droid he was—by each new facet of personality that emerged, every cranky foible that presented itself, but sometimes he’d just been shot in the gut and didn’t have the patience for any of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artemis1000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/gifts).



For as often as Cassian threw himself into danger, he rarely found himself the one hurt. Most often it was his sources who bore the majority of the pain and suffering the Empire inflicted on those who turned traitor. They were the ones who risked their lives to get information to Cassian and Cassian, in return, made sure it got back to the Rebellion. By any means necessary. All in all, it was easier to survive when it didn’t matter who you shot for the chance to escape. What was one more line in whatever dossier the Empire kept on him? They could only pile on so many charges before it stopped mattering what they might hit him with. The people he spoke with, though, they didn’t make a career out of being an insurgent—and so they were a lot more twitchy about things like firing their blasters at stormtroopers.

Understandable, admittedly, but usually they only harmed themselves in the end—and only then when Cassian couldn’t help them, too. Which. Usually he could.

But sometimes…

“You’re losing blood. A lot of blood,” K-2 said, crouched awkwardly over Cassian’s body as Cassian lay in the dirt, his metal frame blocking the sunlight and just about everything else, too. “It’s quite alarming.”

“You’re telling me,” Cassian answered, teeth clenched through a groan as a shiver of pain racked his body. Though his eyes were screwed shut, he easily imagined the interested tilt of K-2’s head as he processed this development. It was K-2’s first time seeing Cassian shot, he thought, and Cassian had picked a hell of a way to introduce the idea to him.

His palm itched to touch the wound, to poke and prod and feel just how fucked or not fucked he was, but his hands were coated in the dust of this backwater world and he didn’t want to risk an infection on the off-chance support couldn’t get to him before things went bad enough that he and K-2 would have to hide. And looking down at himself hadn’t helped all that much. Too much blood and clothing in the way to see.

Besides, allowing K-2 to press a torn wad of fabric from his shirt against it was already excruciating enough.

There were five bodies arrayed around them that attested to how bad this situation was. And the smell was worse, leaving Cassian to breathe through his mouth to avoid inhaling too much of the too-familiar char of blaster wounds, the iron tang of blood—his and others’—because someone, someone had had a projectile weapon of all things and they had decided to use it.

On Cassian.

At least he’d only been struck in the abdomen.

“What are you going to do about it?” K-2 asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Annoyed, he lifted his hand and struck feebly at the ground again. “I thought I’d lay here and think about it for a while.”

“That seems pointless to me,” K-2 offered, something approaching sincerity in his voice, “but I’m just a droid. Perhaps I don’t understand human healing practices.”

Cassian despaired of ever teaching K-2 a sense of humor that wasn’t twisted so far beyond repair that you couldn’t entirely tell when he was joking or not. When he’d reprogrammed K-2, he hadn’t ever expected this. And most of the time he was delighted—secretly, of course, no one needed to know how _fond_ of the security droid he was—by each new facet of personality that emerged, every cranky foible that presented itself, but sometimes he’d just been shot in the gut and didn’t have the patience for any of it.

“Cassian?”

“What?” And Cassian wasn’t too proud to admit that he felt guilty for the way he snapped at K-2. It wasn’t his fault that this happened and Cassian was glad that he wasn’t hurt, too, but Cassian was having a hard time not being pissed off right now and he was the nearest convenient victim. “I’m sorry, Kay, what is it?”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Releasing a pent-up breath—it was almost a laugh and might have been if each inhalation didn’t feel like a knife to the belly—he shook his head and brushed his hand over his closed eyes. “No, Kay. You’re already doing enough. We just have to wait for evac. It’ll be fine.”

“There is a ninety-seven point eight percent chance that you’re lying to me.”

“Kay,” Cassian said, because K-2 needed to know that probabilities meant nothing and numbers counted for little when it came to the truth. His hand groped for K-2’s knee joint. Whether his touch would be a comfort to K-2, Cassian didn’t know, but just feeling the cold, smooth metal beneath his own palm heartened him and that was worth something. “It’ll be _fine_.”

K-2’s unoccupied fingers tapped against his forearm until he decided to bring his hand down to cover Cassian’s. “Your temperature is falling,” K-2 said, which was news to Cassian, who felt warmer than usual all things considered.

But what did he know really? He’d never been shot with a bullet before—a real bullet and not just a blaster bolt. “Don’t do that,” he said, turning his head to look at the building that mostly hid them from anyone who might wander past—though the likelihood of that happening was slim: this was a pretty abandoned part of the city. It was only bad luck that had found a few stormtroopers wandering their way in the first place. In the other direction stood an identical building, but it also had K-2 and so Cassian didn’t want his attention going there.

Already he devoted too much of it to the droid.

In addition to all the personality quirks, Cassian also hadn’t ever expected this—this whatever it was that had resulted from the act of reprogramming K-2. Sure, without regular memory wipes, a droid could develop a personality, but K-2 had always been something special. And Cassian knew he wasn’t responsible for that. There might’ve been droid techs and scientists who could do something like that, but Cassian had been a spy working with a limited time-frame and a specific goal. The code splice he’d written hadn’t been elegant or kind and he’d never meant for it to be.

K-2 was only ever supposed to be an asset. And a short-term one at that.

How, then, he’d become the best friend Cassian had ever known was beyond Cassian’s comprehension. The rest of what he felt didn’t bear thinking about.

“Do what?” K-2 asked.

 _Care_ , Cassian wanted to say through the metallic wash of his blood as it flooded his mouth. Next time he’ll have to remember not to bite the inside of his cheek when he got shot. _It’s not in your programming to care about me_. Instead, he drew in as deep a breath as he could without inviting a fresh wave of agony to cascade over every inch of him. “Nothing. Don’t mind me.”

“I’ve never minded you,” K-2 said, affronted, either misunderstanding or being deliberately obtuse. Cassian didn’t know. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Cassian should have known everything about K-2. “Why would I start now?”

He’d pretty much _made_ the droid who he was, accidental though it may have been. Whatever K-2 made of himself, that was on him, but Cassian had been the catalyst all the same.

Cassian huffed a surprised laugh. It hurt like hell and left him aching and breathless, his body reducing itself to his pain receptors, but K-2 wasn’t wrong. There wasn’t a day that went by that K-2 didn’t do the opposite of what Cassian wanted at some point. Why should something like this stop him? “Just once,” he said, coughing, “for me.”

K-2’s ocular sensors tilted down and then lifted again. Cassian read puzzlement into the gaze despite the fact that little else about K-2 changed with that action.

“Come on,” Cassian cajoled. “Distract me. Show me something new.”

K-2 leaned back slightly, his body creaking with the motion. “I’m not a puppet.”

Cassian smiled, weak. No, the last thing Cassian would accuse K-2 of being was a puppet. “Where did you hear about puppets?”

K-2’s head turned, squeaking. It had been a while since they’d gone down to maintenance, hadn’t it? He was definitely in need of a thorough cleaning despite being the only droid in the entire Rebellion who hated having a run through the oil baths. “I didn’t,” he said, gruff and obstinate.

He was such a terrible liar.

Sighing and frowning, Cassian tried to struggle upward. He had a pretty good idea now where K-2 had heard about puppets and the sudden spike of anger he felt worked wonders against the pain. “Don’t listen to them, all right?” he asked—demanded, really. “Not everyone understands.” _Then again, I’m not sure I understand either. Perhaps there is nothing to understand_.

“You shouldn’t move.” K-2’s hand pressed as gently as it could against Cassian’s sternum. When he said, “You’re still in pain,” it sounded like a revelation.

“I’ll be okay.” _How many times will I have to say it,_ he asked himself. As many times as necessary seemed to be the answer.

K-2 sighed—sighed, of all things, and it was a disgusted sigh, too—and worked his arm beneath Cassian’s back. It wasn’t comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, more like leaning against an immovable metal bar that dug into skin and muscle and bone and would leave a bruise, but Cassian felt… not better. In fact, he felt worse all the way around. But he was… comforted.

If he had to pick a word to describe it.

He didn’t _want_ to describe it admittedly, but he couldn’t lie to himself either—not that and lie to everyone else he regularly came into contact with. In his experience, there were only so many lies a mind could hold. And he regularly used them up on the Rebellion’s behalf. It might’ve been nice to save one for himself, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

“Cassian,” K-2 said again, not jostling him, but tapping at his bicep.

He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes again.

Before he could answer, his comlink crackled and beeped in his vest pocket. His arm ached as he reached for it, his vision swimming with the exertion. But he got it out and barely fumbled it as he flicked it on. “See, Kay? I told you it would be fine in the end,” he said for K-2’s benefit before speaking to whomever was on the other end. “Acknowledge receipt.”

“ _Carriage Two_ acknowledging. We have your transponder on our sensors. ETA two minutes.”

“Understood, _Carriage Two_.”

The comlink hit the dirt at Cassian’s side and rolled slightly away from his body. Cassian tried to care and patted at the hard-packed ground around it to prove it to himself. When he finally grasped it, he wrapped his palm around it and held on to it as tightly as he could. Those things could be dangerous if they found their way into Imperial hands.

Each breath came in a harsh pant that sounded painfully labored even to him and it only worsened when he moved. This time when he tried to push himself up, K-2 assisted him, dragging him to his feet while easily holding the makeshift bandage to his abdomen, knowing that was what Cassian wanted without asking.

“Please don’t do that again,” K-2 said and the way he spoke seemed to convey so much more than the words suggested, though how much of it was Cassian imagining things, Cassian couldn’t say. The fact that he almost couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears or see through the dimness of his vision or stand with the wooziness that threatened to overwhelm him was more than enough, however, to stop him from making a promise Cassian couldn’t keep or say a few things K-2 probably didn’t care to know.

He did the best he could regardless.

“I’ll try not to.” He wrapped his hand around K-2’s wrist and steadied himself against K-2’s side. His other hand pressed against his stomach, too, slipping against the blood-soaked metal of K-2’s fingers as well as the fabric.

“Good,” K-2 said. “Because I don’t like it.”

Cassian sighed. He didn’t much like it either, but he appreciated hearing the sentiment from K-2 even if it did nothing to stop the raging of his heartbeat nor solved the dilemma Cassian had found himself in.

 _One day_ , Cassian thought. One day he would figure out what to do about the impossible things he felt. And maybe one day he’d even be happy about it.

In the meantime, he was just glad he had his best friend at his side.


End file.
